Time Of Our Lives
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: ****OK so I managed to completely depress myself writing this. Inspired by the song 'Time of Our Lives' by Tyrone Wells but NOT a songfic as I don't write them! These are the last hours of Sherlock Holmes' life. WARNINGS for Major character death, mentions of cancer, and massive amounts of angst - so tissues come highly recommended! If I make you cry my job here is done! Sorry!


**Time Of Our Lives**

"John," Sherlock choked, and Doctor John Watson leaned closer to his dying friend. Mary sat loyally by her husband's side and reached out to squeeze his hand comfortingly as the other slipped easily into Sherlock's cold palm, "the game is over."

John gulped back the tears which threatened to fall. "I thought you said the game was never over." He sniffed.

The doctor was angry – Sherlock was still so young. Forty-three was no age at all it seemed to die, their daughter had barely had any time at all with her godfather, and the ten years which had now passed since John Watson had first been introduced to Sherlock Holmes felt like nothing. The cancer which was now going to take him from them all had snuck in deviously, slowly and quietly taking hold of the detective's body. By the time any of them realised that anything was wrong it had already been too late, and the past six agonising months had seemed to last far longer than their decade of friendship ever had.

Sherlock smiled.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this John," he explained weakly, "but I feel so tired, for the first time in my life. If it was up to me I'd love to spend an eternity here with you, solving those most perplexing of crimes and mysteries which would stump even the best Scotland Yard has to offer, but my body has had enough of the game now…"

A choking sob emanated from Mary's direction as he said this, and Sherlock looked to the young woman. He squeezed her hand as hard as he could, hoping that the gesture would seem reassuring as he regarded her affectionately.

"Look after him for me?" He asked, indicating John as he spoke and she nodded, the tears cascading down her pale cheeks.

"Of course…" She sobbed, "always…"

"Mary I think it's time you told Mrs Hudson to call everyone now." John turned to her, his face was deathly pale and he felt sick to his stomach – the realisation that he didn't have very much more time left with his best friend hit him hard. The pain of loss was worse than any he'd ever experienced in his life before – worse now than when he'd thought he'd lost Sherlock the first time, partly because it felt now as though his friend had returned only to be cruely ripped away from him again, despite the fact that they'd had six more wonderful years together since then, and partly because the first time John had never completely lost hope that somehow Sherlock had survived the fall.

There was however no coming back from this. Not this time.

"It won't be long now." He explained, and she nodded.

Sherlock watched her slowly go with sad and tired eyes – the pact between those who were closest to him hadn't escaped his notice. He was well aware that they had all intended to be there when the end finally came. As much as he cared for them all in his own unique way however there was only one person who'd occupied his thoughts during his darkest moments throughout the past few months, and he turned to his best friend as he heard Mary quietly close the door in her wake.

"John." He sighed weakly, and there were tears in his own eyes now as he spoke – betraying the inescapable pain in his own heart. "I just want to say that the past few years have been brilliant." He choked. "Now it comes down to it I really don't want to go, but as it all must end here I'm glad that you were my friend, and here to share in what has been the time of my life."

"The time of _our_ lives." John corrected him. "We certainly have some stories to tell." He laughed, and his voice now broke slightly, the cracks in his façade beginning to show, but he fought to maintain his composure.

"Yes…" Sherlock smiled. "But it's not time to say goodbye just yet. I have strength enough left to hold on just a little while longer."

For the high functioning sociopath this was certainly not how he would have pictured the end to have come. As someone who'd never expected to have made so much as one friend in his lifetime the sight of his parents, Mycroft, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and even Anderson – but especially John and Mary – gathered around his bedside as the afternoon wore quickly on both surprised and secretly delighted him. One by one they said their goodbyes, before the small group left to congregate in the small sitting room to await the end. Only John and Mary remained rooted to Sherlock's side as the hours wore on – the consulting detective holding stubbornly on for as long as he possibly could.

"Just sleep now Sherlock," John whispered, when he detected that the time they'd all been dreading had finally come, "I'll still be here when you wake up."

Both men shared a knowing and heartfelt look as he said this however – both knowing that this would be the last they would ever see of each other – for when Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes both knew that he would not be waking up again.

"Thank you John." Sherlock whispered.

"For what?" His friend asked, brushing back the tears, which despite his best efforts he hadn't been able to prevent from falling.

"For everything." He smiled.

John and Sherlock held each other's gaze for as long as they could. John could tell that Sherlock was doing his best to fight against the natural cloud of eternal sleep which was now rapidly beginning to catch up with him, beckoning him away from them all. His eyelids were heavy, and already beginning to close – and when they finally fell closed for the final time John lent forward and whispered in his friend's ear.

"No, thank you Sherlock." He hiccoughed, finally allowing the tears to flow freely. "You were the best and the wisest man that I've ever known, so of course I'll miss you. But it'll be alright, this time won't be like last time. You can let go now."

Mary, brushing back her own tears, kissed Sherlock gently upon the forehead, and lovingly stroked the top of his head – brushing the dark locks of chocolate coloured away from his pale face as he descended into a peaceful coma.

Sherlock Holmes died peacefully in his sleep that night, with his friends and family gathered around him. He left behind him the legacy of an international reputation as the world's only consulting detective, but most of all a gaping hole in the hearts of the many people who counted themselves as lucky to have called him their friend, and whose lives he'd unknowingly helped save in so many different ways.


End file.
